Every Little Thing She Does is Magic
by i-heart-happyendings
Summary: Everyone agreed Harry and Ginny had something special going. But then forces beyond their control forced Harry to break things off, a least for a while... or so he thought. Can their love survive under the ever darkening shadow of Lord Voldemort?


**Alrighty, everyone. This is my first attempt at a FanFiction story and I'm excited! I do love Harry Potter, especiallyThe Chamber of Secrets. My favorite characters are Fred and Geroge. Perhaps you're wondering why I wrote a one-shot romance about Harry and Ginny instead of an amusing spiel about the twins' antics? Well, because Harry and Ginny are just so darn cute together, of course! **

**Special thanks to K.C., for introducing me to FanFiction. And some love for all those wonderfully talented folks who write really great stuff about Lily and James to entertain me! You inspire me! I would have written a L&J oneshot but, um, you guys would have toooooooooooooooooooooooooootally overshadowed any feeble attempt I made. Teehee. **

**Oh, and the title? Maybe once you've read the story you won't think it quite fits. But I HAD to use it- I felt so funny and intelligent and special after I thought of it! I mean, hello! There's the allusion to the song, of course, and the bit about magic, and...oh well, if you don't think it's funny and pun-ny yet, you probably won't ever, so I'll stop.**

**Please read and review. I'm defiantely open to all sorts of criticisms and suggestions and corrections and perhaps even some appreciation, hehe! I hope you enjoy this fluffy (although thoughtful, I like to think, tehe!)bit of H&G amusement!**

**Here is some love for my reviewers:**

**Kim: Thank you for the kind words but please stop threatening me. Hahahahahaah oh Kim you make me laugh. **

**WhiteRose101: Well thanks! Aw shucks! **

**Ashley 0918: I'm glad you thought it was cute… that's kind of what I was going for, haha. **

**Zeke: Congrats on being my first reviewer EVER! You rock! You're right, I do like to go in-depth with the characters, although most of my readers know them pretty well by now, hehe….**

**Disclaimer: Obviously all characters and plotlines carried over from the Harry Potter series are the rightful intellectual property of Ms. J.K. Rowling, although she is so atrociously wealthy, more so than the Queen of England herself, that even if I did write a story with her characters and plot, sell it, and make millions and jillions of dollars, she would still be atrociously wealthy. But I won't, of course. **

_Every Little Thing She Does is Magic_

"Harry, we need to talk."

The words Harry had dreaded hearing were finally spoken, and he immediately tensed. He had been successfully avoiding Ginny for the first entire week of his stay at the Weasly home, where he was spending his August, by… well, ducking out of sight when he saw her approaching, engaging in lengthy dinnertime conversations about traffic lights with Mr. Weasly, and avoiding her gaze whenever forces beyond his control required them to be in the same room. Harry immediately felt his head start to spin. _What is she going to say?_ he thought. _What is she feeling? I can't explain to her, _again_, that we can't be together when that's really what I want more than anything! _

Ginny had caught him off guard on his way out the back door, headed for a bit of Quidditch in the backyard with Ron, as well as Fred and George, who were at home for a bit of R&R from their stressful jobs as joke shop entrepreneurs. "Let's take a walk," she suggested, and he hesitantly followed her in the direction of a path that ran through the woods bordering the yard.

"Harry, I still have feelings for you," Ginny announced unabashedly, looking him straight in the eye without a hint of blush tingeing her freckled cheeks. He bit his lip and looked at the ground, his hands in his pockets.

"And I… Ginny, you know I like you. But I thought I explained…"

"Yes, you explained all right," Ginny interrupted. "And_ I_ thought I made it clear that I don't care about any risk a relationship between us could bring!"

"I can't bring myself to put you in danger like that," Harry maintained with a frown, unhappy to have to argue his point to her again after going through the ordeal two months before.

"Put me in danger? How so? I've certainly never been in danger before, have I?" Ginny cried. "My first year at school, you rescued me from You-Know-Who's past person in the Chamber of Secrets. I followed you to the Ministry that night in your fifth year and fought the Death Eaters. Countless times I've assisted you in some way or another in getting past Umbridge or… or _Voldemort_, Harry! What further danger could… could being seen holding your hand in the corridors, or sharing butterbeers at The Three Broomsticks, or kissing you after Quidditch practice, be to me?" she demanded.

"He'll kill you," Harry asserted in a low voice. "He'll find whatever and _who_ever I care about and do all that he can to destroy it… to destroy you."

"Ron is safe, has been safe for all these years of knowing you. Hermione has never been picked out of class and blown to bits, either," Ginny argued emotionally.

Harry shook his head slowly. "This is different, Ginny, _you're_ different and you mean…. you mean….you mean things to me in- in a way I've never felt before," he tried to explain. "He'll realize that soon enough…"

"Harry, I still don't care!" she persisted, flipping her glimmering hair with impatience. "You're worth that to me. You're worth more to me than a promise of safety. And nobody's safe anymore, not really, whether they know you or not. Nobody's safe," Ginny choked, and Harry put an arm around her, the feeling that he needed to protect her, that only he could protect her, stirring in him again. She rested her head on his shoulder and he said nothing, his eyes fixed on the path ahead.

"Please, just say we can be together?" Ginny whispered, and he looked at her. Tears were forming in her emerald eyes, which set off her fiery red hair, and clear, milky white complexion, dotted with russet freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her eyes spoke of sincerity, hope, and… love. He looked away.

"I care too much about you to say that," he said simply. It was hard to say and even harder to look at her once the words had left his mouth. Her expression was hard and not entirely surprised, but nonetheless disappointed.

"If that's… how you want it, Harry. I…" she shook her head, turned from him, and flew away down the path back to the house. He didn't shout out after her. He had nothing else to say to her. He felt empty, drained of the capacity to gauge his own emotions.

He heard a door slam in the distance a minute or so later. He decided he wanted to be alone and walked further down the wooded path. Five or so minutes passed and he tired of being alone with his feelings, conflicted and confusing and muddled as they were, so he turned and walked towards the direction of the Weasly yard, hoping to catch the end of the pick-up Quidditch game. He reached the edge of the woods, heard Ron, Fred, and George shouting over the sound of swinging bludger bats and whizzing quaffles, and changed his mind again. So he sidled along the edge of the house, avoiding their line of sight, and slipped in the back door.

He heard the sound of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen. He tried to hurry up the stairs unseen but was spotted by Mrs. Weasly, clad in a frilly pink apron, directing the actions of the various cooking accoutrements and meal ingredients with lazy flicks of her wand from her seat at the worn and weathered kitchen table. "Harry dear!" she called.

He walked through the sitting room to the kitchen, wondering what she wanted and feeling very… _exposed_ in the room's bright light, as if Mrs. Weasly could read his expression and guess what was bothering him. Of course, being the mother of seven children, she could.

"Something wrong?" she asked gently.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of one of the saucepans suspended magically on the far wall. He eyes were distraught, and his expression, despondently perplexed. He quickly rearranged his mouth into a smile, which looked very unnatural with his troubled eyes and furrowed brow. "No," he replied quickly.

"Are you sure? Do you need something? You've been looking rather thin lately," she commented, as if that explained his dejected disposition. "You and Ron both. He's taller than his father now. I swear you both grow faster than a magicked skin fungus. Although you're much better-looking," she allowed fondly, snapping her fingers twice to increase the speed of the spoon stirring the bubbling pot of something delicious-smelling on the stove. "Any and either way, you must eat more, dear."

"I think I can manage that," Harry said with a genuine grin. He was already putting away third and fourth portions of everything tempting offered at the Weasly table, which, due to Mrs. Weasly's tremendous cooking skills, was everything, but he supposed he'd have to start asking for fifths to satisfy her watchful eye. In fact, he had discovered during his first week staying at the Burrow that busying himself with eating ravenously at every meal was a good way to avoid conversation. With Ginny. He winced slightly at the thought.

"Would you mind calling the boys to dinner, Harry?" Mrs. Weasly asked, glancing at her magical clock on the wall that conveyed the whereabouts of every member of the family. Mr. Weasly's arrow was pointing steadily at "Work." She sighed. "He's always so late coming home these days," she worried aloud, half to herself. "So overworked. Everyone at the Ministry is now, and he feels it's his duty to stay well into the night. Well, every working man is entitled to a warm dinner, I think, and his has been cold every night this week. Well, would have been, if not for the Dinner Delayer charm I found in _Witch Weekly_. Keeps prepared food at its proper temperature and texture indefinitely, no reheating needed," she explained, thumbing through the pages of a recent issue. "Although everything tastes its best straight from the oven, of course. Anyway, I do worry about Arthur. He's working too hard." She looked very concerned, and when she turned to check the potatoes sizzling in the broiler, Harry removed himself quietly from the kitchen and went to break up the Quidditch game still in full swing in the yard.

He walked slowly towards the makeshift pitch, feeling grateful to have ended his conversation with Mrs. Weasly. He empathized with her concern for her husband but felt uncomfortable hearing her mention it. He didn't admit to himself that seeing her worry reminded him, in a way, of Ginny.

That night, Harry couldn't sleep. He retired to bed early and breakfasted late anyway, in an attempt to avoid seeing….her. But, as he found out over his eight scrambled eggs, half pound of bacon, five pieces of toast, three cream pastries and flask of pumpkin juice the next day, there was no need to avoid her.

"Morning Mum," Ron yawned, having risen even later than Harry after staying up late the night before to finish a long letter. Unbeknownst to him, Harry had seen the salutation at the top of the parchment when Ron went to brush his teeth: My Dearest Hermione. _At least somebody around here is owning up to his feelings_, that deep-down part of Harry's mind observed.

"When are you taking Ginny to get new robes?" Ron asked, helping himself to Harry's bacon. "I need to pay Madame Malkin a visit. The cuffs of one of my robes need to be repaired."

"Why?" Mrs. Weasly requested. "Those robes were new last year, Ronald. If you'd only stop growing…" she added under her breath.

"I'm working on it, Mum," he said sarcastically. "Anyway, I got something funny on them last year in Potions. Spilled something."

"Well, I'm not taking Ginny; she's left for the rest of the summer to stay with her friend Sameira Singh in London. Her uncle owns that new inn on Diagon Alley and is letting them stay in a suite for free. And stop eating Harry's bacon, Ron, there's plenty on the table."

"Lucky Ginny!" Ron exclaimed, ignoring her last comment and snatching another piece of bacon from Harry's crowded plate. "That place is fantastic, I've heard! It took the place of Florean Fortescue's ice cream shop."

"Ginny wasn't supposed to leave until next week, but something came up," Mrs. Weasly added. "I think she said Sameira wrote her and invited her early."

Harry ventured to think that maybe, partly, it was because of what had passed between the two of them the day before. Perhaps she was as uncomfortable around Harry as he was around her and wanted to escape from the confines of the Burrow until the start of term, when she could easily avoid him in the winding corridors of Hogwarts. _Or maybe she's given up on me completely!_ he thought with a start, not relieved at all at this possibility. He imagined her unpacking her things at the hotel, laughing and joking with Sameira, glad to be away from Harry; she and Sameira meeting boys in the lobby, flirting ostentatiously, which Ginny did so well; she and some other guy holding hands walking down Diagon Alley. He seethed silently, lost in his thoughts.

Oblivious, Ron asked him to pass the pastries. "Harry? Harr-eeeeee?" He waved a hand in front of his friend's face.

"Oh, right!" Harry said, blinking quickly, trying to rid his head of the images, and passed Ron the plate of Danishes. _You've brought this on yourself, _Harry thought bitterly._ She tried to convince you to try to make it work and you screwed everything up. There's no turning back now. There's no wanting her back._

The next two weeks passed in a blur. Harry busied himself playing Quidditch and testing Fred and George's new joke shop product innovations. Hermione came to stay at the Burrow for the last week before the start of the new term and Harry noticed, with a twinge of uneasiness, the awkwardness that followed the three of them around. Harry suspected that he was the cause, and tried whenever possible to tactfully leave his two friends alone. He wasn't sure what had come of their long letters back and forth over the summer, but knew that he shouldn't get involved. He found himself wishing more and more that Ginny was there to keep him company and reassure him that the friendship of the threesome would survive whatever these new changes brought. But she was in London, _probably charming the entire British Quidditch team_, he thought bitterly. He was angry that he still liked her so much, no matter what he told himself, and that he had been the cause of all of his own pain and unhappiness. He doubted more and more his decision to break up with Ginny and found him self questioning how much danger a relationship between them really would have posed. _Am I just playing the hero again?_ he asked himself, lying awake in bed for long, slow hours every night. _Was this some "stupid noble reason" I thought up, as Ginny said at Dumbledore's funeral?_ But he couldn't for the life of him imagine why his subconscious self would be creating excuses to break up with the girl he cared so much about.

He also found himself wondering _why_ Ginny had liked him in the first place. He knew why he like _her_- she was smart, funny, charming, a good listener, an excellent judge of character, a great Quidditch player, absolutely gorgeous… she was feisty and bold and confident and would immediately catch the attention of every guy when she entered a room. And she was genuine. She never tried to hide her feelings.

But there was something else Harry hadn't consciously realized or admitted. Ginny reminded him of his own mother. Of course, he hadn't known his mother since infancy, except in dreams, but from everything he'd ever been told about her, every faint memory he clung to, Ginny was very much like her. It was more than the blazing and beautiful red hair they shared. It was their character, their bravery, their strength, their wit, their kindness. Their undaunted energy and raw passion for living. Ginny had completed a part of him that had, for so long, been hollow. Harry had never known the love of a female, except Mrs. Weasly, and longed for it deep in the places no one talks about. Ginny had, for too short a while, filled the void.

Harry missed her presence at the Burrow more with every passing day. Her absence, which he'd never known for all the summers he'd spent at the Weasly home, distracted him from everything. He was distant to Ron and Hermione, and spent long periods of time walking in the forest alone, dreaming up ways to get her back. And ways to go out with her without putting her in danger. And simply dreaming _about_ her… the way her eyes would sparkle when she laughed, the way her red hair glimmered like spun gold in the sunshine, the dimple that formed in her left cheek when she was happy, the way she used to kiss him softly and gently at first, drawing him in and leaving him intoxicated with everything about her when they broke apart: her scent, her sound, her deep meaningful eyes that conveyed every emotion so clearly, once you understood her… He _knew_ he understood her now. And she had always understood him, ever since he met her in his second year, a shy, frightened creature who drew back and fled the room at the sight of him, but nonetheless observed him closely for years and years afterwards, getting to know him from afar, becoming intimate with his thoughts and feelings without him ever realizing. She could gauge his mood and thoughts at a glance, a habit that sometimes made life oh so easy when he really wanted someone to understand, and so very difficult when he stubbornly refused to share anything with anyone. He loved everything about her. And, as he finally admitted to himself, a bit self-defeated and, yet, glad to be truthful, he loved _her_.

Ron didn't notice Harry's changed demeanor, not exactly being the observant, sensitive type (but a great friend nonetheless), but Hermione did almost immediately. Her second day at the Burrow, she sought him out to talk but he wouldn't admit he was being bothered by anything. When she asked to speak with him again a few days later, he opened up and told her everything, glad to have someone to talk to, finally. He expected her to offer some wonderful Hermione-esque advice, apt and wise, and was surprised when, after listening intently to his troubles for nearly half an hour, she folded her hands in her lap, sighed and said, "I think you should write to Lupin, Harry."

Harry drew back in surprise. "Lupin? What the Hogwarts does he have to do with it?"

"Har-_ry_," Hermione admonished in that knowing way of hers. "He went through the exact same situation last year, remember? With Tonks?"

And Harry did remember. How Tonks had become sad and miserable and no one knew why, assuming it was grief over the death of Sirius, who was her distant cousin; but it instead turned out to be heartache over her unrequited love for Lupin, who loved her equally in return but refused to be with her, saying she deserved someone younger, someone much better than, well, a werewolf, which he was. Finally, he gave into her, and they were planning a fall wedding.

"He could help you, possibly," Hermione advised knowingly. "Write him a letter describing your situation."

"Well, I guess there are some similarities between our situations, but…no. I can't write to Lupin! It'd be too… weird."

"Well, who then?" Hermione asked gently, and immediately wished she hadn't, seeing the look on Harry's face. He closed his eyes, looking pained, and turned his head from her. After all, who else was there? His father was dead. His mother was dead. Sirius, the closest thing he ever had to a father, was dead. And now the closest thing he'd ever had to a grandfather, or an uncle, or even simply a wise friend, had been silenced by Voldemort's orders as well. Harry had never spoken of it, had been even more tight-lipped about Dumbeldore's death than Sirius's the previous year, but Ron and Hermione knew how much he grieved for him inside. They were disappointed when he broke up with Ginny, because she had been so good with him, getting him to talk when he need to and just being there for him when he didn't, or couldn't. And now he didn't even have her with whom he could honestly share his feelings.

"Harry, you must write Ginny, then," Hermione urged. "Tell her how you feel!"

Harry had been expecting that. "No, not a letter," he sighed. "It's too impersonal. I've got to _see_ her. But I can't get to London just now, I'd have to ask Mrs. Weasly, and she's want to know why, and I can't tell her…but I must see her before we go back to school! I must!" he cried softly.

He blushed slightly. He felt exposed again, like he had with Mrs. Weasly, but much more so now that he'd told someone the whole truth. _Hermione, of all people_, he reprimanded himself. _Ginny's best friend. Of course, you stupid fool, you chose Hermione…_

"Don't- tell her, just yet, okay?" Harry asked.

"Of course not," Hermione scoffed. "These things take time." She looked sincere.

But inside, she thought, _Of course, they take _less_ time with the help of a well-intentioned mutual friend…_ and smiled serenely.

Harry felt as if his feelings were completely out in the open with Hermione the next few days. She looked at him quizzically every few hours or so, as if trying to pry his thoughts out of his head without permission. Hermione, like Ginny, was good at reading people: their behavior, their actions, their expressions… but Harry had, for the most part, appreciated that in Ginny. With Hermione, it was downright annoying.

During a game of exploding Snap three days after his heart-to-heart with Hermione, Harry felt her looking at him over her cards, wearing that curious, yet knowing, look. "Would you stop it, please!" he muttered, glancing up finally to meet her stare. Hermione snapped out of her thoughtful reverie.

"Stop wha-" Hermione began to protest.

"Oh, come off it," Harry interrupted angrily. "You're staring at me again with that…face."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry," Hermione answered brusquely. "I wasn't."

"What's going on?" Ron asked, curiously glancing from Hermione to Harry and back. Hermione was looking a bit sheepish and Harry, bothered.

"She's been staring at me for days," Harry asserted. Seeing the confused look on Ron's face, he added, "It's nothing," and "It's your turn."

"Staring? Why would she be staring at you?" Ron questioned.

"I suppose she finds me good looking," Harry replied sarcastically, studying his playing cards.

"Do you?" Ron demanded, looking at Hermione a bit resentfully.

"Of course not, Ron, I've got a thing for redheads," she said affectionately, and kissed him on the cheek. Ron returned his attention to the game, satisfied.

Harry squirmed inside, seeing his two best friends acting so… couple-ish. It was happening more and more often now, a kiss here, a hug there, playful comments, holding hands under the dinner table… and as much as he tried to ignore it, it bothered Harry. He wished for the umpteenth time that Ginny hadn't left the Burrow, so he wouldn't feel so much like the third wheel.

That night, Harry almost put pen to paper to write a letter to Ginny. His hand, clenched tightly around his quill, was poised at the top of the page. _But how do I start it?_ he wondered. _'Dear Ginny'? No, that's not… right. 'My Dearest Ginny'? Ugh, definitely not. Er… just 'Dearest'? No, not quite… plain old 'Ginny' isn't, well, _enough_, either…_

He sat there at Ron's desk for twenty minutes, trying to decide how to begin the letter, and finally gave up. He retired to bed and fell into a restless sleep. In his dream, Ginny had returned to the Burrow. She had brought everyone a present from her stay in London, even Hermione's terrible cat, Crookshanks, but Harry was left empty-handed. "Did- did you- do you have-?" his dream self asked her timidly. She looked at him, confused.

"Have what?" she asked, as the entire rest of the family, including Bill, Charlie, and Percy, sat in the living room, tearing the paper off their gifts. Various students and teachers from Hogwarts were also present, including Professor Slughorn, Neville Longbottom, and Ernie McMillan, and all had brightly-wrapped gifts in hand.

"Well, a token? For me?" Harry faltered, feeling squeamish.

"For you? And what have you for me, Harry? What do you have to give me?" Ginny asked with a musical laugh.

"Er- a book! I've written a book with all my fondest feelings for you, in verse form!" he lied.

"Really?" Dream-Ginny asked, looking pleasantly surprised. "Go get it, then. It sounds lovely. And my present for you is on my bed upstairs."

Harry hurried up to Ginny's room, but her door was locked. He heard her steps on the stairs. "Do you have my book?" she called. Harry began to panic. He ran to his room, pulled a blank notebook out of his trunk, and frantically tried to think of a verse to write. He tried to decide what he should write on the cover. _What is her name?_ his dream-self thought hysterically. _I can't remember her name! Is it Gina? Jenny? June?_ And Ginny was turning the doorknob of Ron's room…

Harry awoke with a start. He sat up in bed and looked at the door a few feet away. It was slightly ajar. Ron was snoring soundly. Harry slipped out from between his sheets, groped for his eyeglasses on the bedside table, put them on, and quietly opened the door. The hallway was silent and shadowy, illuminated slightly by moonlight drifting in through windows in various bedrooms whose doors were open. His eyes strained to make out something at the far end of the long hall. He stepped forward a bit, his feet light on the ground. It was her.

He hurried forward. She brushed past him lightly, a figure of shadow and moonlight, almost an apparition, and started down the stairs. He followed her silently out the backyard, down the path they had walked weeks before. Finally, he spoke in the darkness of the woods. "You're back," he said, almost not believing his own words.

"I had to come," she said simply, looking up at him with her large emerald eyes, full of emotion, but hard to read.

"I knew you would. I hoped you would." He brushed a strand of her soft hair from her face. She touched his cheek. "I-" he started.

"I have loved you," Ginny declared in a soft but solemn voice, not waiting for him to finish, "for five long years, from afar and near, and now, even if distance yourself from me again, I won't stop. I can't stop now."

Harry believed her. He knew her too well to imagine she would simply give up if he continued to fight her. But he didn't want to anymore. A very small part of him was still whispering that he, who was responsible for her both as her admirer and the best friend of her elder brother, was willingly putting her at risk, but Harry decided to give in to his heart, which was screaming "KISS HER!" at the top of its figurative lungs.

After a long glorious moment, she pulled slightly away from him so their chins and noses were lightly touching. "I missed you so much," she whispered, a tear running down her lovely cheek. Harry wiped it away tenderly. He understood what she meant, that she had missed him while she had been away, but also the whole summer before that, and the years that preceded it and every summer in between, even before she knew he felt the same love for her. He understood that and realized he had felt it too, that restless longing for something, for someone, for so long, without recognizing it. Then she raised her lips to his again and kissed him passionately.

"All these years, what have I been doing?" he wondered aloud, searching her eyes for an answer. "What was I thinking?"

"Don't, don't," she told him, shaking her head slowly, encircling her arms around his neck. "Don't talk like that; there's no need now. I'm here, and everything's so wonderful," she assured, a smile dancing in her teary eyes.

"I won't ever leave you again," Harry promised, tears forming in his own eyes, his heart overflowing with a magnificent feeling he'd been missing and wanting and craving for so very long, his whole life, it seemed. "You've been here for me all these years, and… and I didn't know it. I won't waste any more time trying to figure things out, figure my _life_ out. You make sense to me. Everything makes since now. You're perfect," he spoke, taking her small, delicate hands in his own.

They talked that night of everything deep and profound and important. Harry felt so right all of a sudden, so completed and perfected by Ginny. The world was waiting for him, for them, somewhere far away from that path in the woods where they stood with one another, but they would make it through, he was sure. They could bear anything now, together.

As the first ray of morning light filtered through the leafy branches above them, many hours later, Harry looked into Ginny's eyes and spoke. "I love you," he said, as if trying the words out for a fit, and then again, softer, "I love you."

She just looked at him with her glimmering eyes, and he knew what her heart was saying. They walked slowly back to the house, ready to face the morning, and after that, the world.


End file.
